The Ride

Day 54: Simon of Arabia

Photo of the day: Top Knot

Day fifty four.

After a record breaking 28 minute check out I headed north as the road seeks to avoid who knows what or perhaps join up the attractive villages to the north and west of Hotan. I stopped to pick up a naan for my evening meal and another for breakfast. As I've progressed west it feels like China has become more reserved, even shy at times. At the naan oven I met the exception to prove this rule. As he didn't have change, he gave me an extra naan despite my protestations that I was happy with two spring onion naans for 50p. I promise in the first photo below that he's recreating the moment I ordered two naans.

Super Naan

Please note that's a cycling cap and not, I repeat not, a bandanna.

I also noticed that my honesty test had been failed by Hotan. I've left my watch (£2) on my handlebar for the entire journey and the place it was finally stolen was outside a PSB building and under the gaze of the best hotel in town's security. Shame on you Hotan.

Out of the oasis and back into the desert one last time I made good progress before your friend and mine, the sandstorm arrived. It was a finer grain than it's Qinghai or Gansu sisters, which made it possible to pass through with a quickly fashioned head scarf.

I put the music on shuffle and told the storm to do its worst. There were as many moments of spine tingling goodness as there were moments of horror. ﻿Des Lynam reading If by Rudyard Kipling﻿ followed by Super Trooper by Abba sums up that shift best.

Then, as if my life was a movie, You'll Never Walk Alone Came on at the end of the storm as a blue circle opened in the sky. Then it closed in again; just can't build on success can we? (rhetorical)

I expertly found a hole to hide in, set up my tent and enjoyed my naan with a pot noodle and garlic oil dip, before falling asleep to the sound of fighter jets.

I'll also admit to old person signal hunting with my mobile; but it worked, somehow in a two man tent I had blackspots and hotspots.

May 30: Hotan to a hole in the ground - 102km

Start Time: 09.30Finish Time: 19.00Hours Cycling: 8

A Photo every hour:Today's highlight - the barbecue palace

Photo of the day: It's going to be a riot of an afternoon

Day fifty five.

I've not gone into the politics of Xinjiang on this blog for two good reasons. The best of which is that I'm just - one more time for you Jenny Bradley - a twat on a bike, the second best is that it's too complicated to explain here. So go and read four or five books on it and come back.

Done that? Good, then we can continue.

The day started with suicidal lizards, who are not a provincial punk band who once opened for Capdown (if they are then sorry), but literally suicidal lizards who kept jumping in front of my front wheel. It's a miracle I only killed one.

I passed some road kill watermelons that were starting to ferment in the desert heat, which reminded me that it was time to start working on the torso tan. This immediately earned me an ice coffee from one man and a terrifying stare of sexual intent from another.

With my shirt back on I stopped for a refreshment in a small village and admired the continuing force of Red Bull's marketing domination. In China their red and gold label is an immediate winner, but bugger me when will all other brands realise that free merch is embraced in China in a way no other country does it.

At 2pm I faced a choice, press on into another sandstorm for 77km or stop in a place I'd been calling Piss Mountain since Hotan (Pishan - it's actually skin mountain but with my mixed reading ability Pi Mountain easily because Pee Mountain and then Piss Mountain).

My decision, believe it or not, was to stop at Piss Mountain because otherwise I'd be too far ahead of schedule. An error.

Sitting 8km back from the main road, the first 6km there were scenic vine clad villages. It was also downhill, which is a cycling aphrodisiac if ever there was one.

The first sign that this was possibly the wrong choice was the sight of a gun turret atop a police station, which hadn't even been painted blue and white yet. 2km further in and only 200m from my hotel the sight of a police motorcycle stopping side on in front of me at the traffic lights and two properly armed officers walking towards me confirmed Piss Mountain probably wasn't Disneyland.

Off came the sunglasses and hat to reveal my 'please don't hurt me, my country has a huge trade deficit with yours' appearance. Joking aside - and I'm not just saying this because I'm still in the same town - as with all of the SWAT police I've dealt with they've been firm but professional. They asked me to ride back down the road with them until we were outside the PSB station, where they went through me ID and confirmed I was - alright Jenny, have another - a twat on a bike by looking at my twat on a bike photos on my camera.

All was going well until a child of about eight, who I'm 90% certain was mentally ill, started to grab and then try and touch the end of one of the police officer's guns. This is a part of China where the police shoot first; all the Jason Bourne thoughts ran through my head - you know the ones you wouldn't do if a shot did get fired because you'd be too busy wondering if your cycling shoots would hold the poo*. Fortunately the officers remained calm and waved him away.

I was handed my camera and sent to the hotel. At the hotel I spoke to the police on the phone (another successful Chinese telephone conversation - gold star) and then 30 seconds later the police turned up in person, this went less successfully as I didn't know where I was going next (in Chinese). Fortunately two Uyghurs translated my next location for me as I only knew the Uyghur name of the town.

One final security insult to Pishan, the hotel insisted I keep my bike in the room, which feels a bit like a boundary has been crossed, especially given the boobs on the wall too.

All that said, a quick search has revealed I've accidentally gone on holiday to the centre of terrorist training in Xinjiang (depending who you believe - I'll let you judge after your thorough background reading). Well done me. What with the sandstorm that at least I avoided, raging outside, I reckon it's an afternoon to enjoy a few Sinkiang beers and a bag of sunflower seeds in my hotel room, whilst the boobs watch over me.

*I think I've lost too much weight and my shame would be evident for all to see.